


Space Cowboy

by anactoriatalksback



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Choose Your Own Ending, I'm tagging original male character although technically..., Identity Porn, M/M, well you'll see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-04-23 20:10:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14340021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anactoriatalksback/pseuds/anactoriatalksback
Summary: Richard sees Jared get into the backseat of a car with a strange woman. When he confronts Jared, he finds out more than he bargained for.





	1. Chapter 1

“My friend, I am not what I seem. Seeming is but a garment I wear — a care-woven garment that protects me from thy questionings and thee from my negligence. The "I" in me, my friend, dwells in the house of silence, and therein it shall remain for ever more, unperceived, unapproachable.”   
― [ **Kahlil Gibran**](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6466154.Kahlil_Gibran), [ **The Madman**](https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/6517)

 

There but for the Grace of God goes Richard Hendricks.

Multiverse theory. Schrodingers Cat. Uncollapsed wave functions.

The universe – the many universes – in which this hadn’t happened. In which Richard’s lunch appointment hadn’t been moved last-minute. In which Richard hadn’t gotten out of the restaurant early. In which Richard hadn’t seen….okay, he doesn’t know what exactly, but. This. It.

Which, as Richard’s never-silent Internal Editor is quick to point out, is an unnecessarily-elaborate way of saying that it was a very low-probability event for Richard to see Jared head into the parking lot of the restaurant where he, Richard, wasn’t supposed to be at lunch because he, Richard, was supposed to be at lunch like ten blocks away, and anyway he, Jared, _definitely_ wasn’t supposed to be at lunch there, because…well, okay, fine, Jared’s _allowed_ to have lunch, Richard hasn’t chained him to the desk or whatever, but why isn’t he _having_ lunch? Why is he getting into the back-seat of a parked Prius? What is he…

Who is he….not having lunch with?

Why is he…

What is he….

How long will he….

And then the door of the Prius opens, and Richard dives to the ground, whacking his ear rather painfully against the side-mirror of, oddly enough, another Prius.

‘ _Fuck._ ’

Richard doesn’t dare to lift his head up, but he can see along the ground underneath the row of cars between his Prius and Jared’s.

He can’t see Jared’s neat loafers, but – are those – heels? High heels?

Is Jared having…like, back-seat encounters…with…

Monica? Is that…I mean she actually ordered Jared’s Amazing Technicolor Nightmare Coat, and they have the same Bad News Sweater, is this, is that, do they, how long…

No, shut up Hendricks, there’s more than one woman in the Valley.

….Laurie, then?

No, Richard thinks there are more than two women in the Valley too, although right now he is hard-pressed to think of them.

But what is Jared…

Is this…

Does he…

Who is…

Richard drags himself along, commando-style, on his belly and elbows so that he can peek around the car in front of him.

Sees a slim red-headed woman stub out a cigarette with a quick twist of her heel, and then walk briskly towards the restaurant.

Five minutes…hours? Days?....later, Richard sees Jared get out of the car. He smooths his jacket down and heads out of the parking lot without a backward glance.

Richard stumbles to his feet.

What the.

What the actual fuck _was_ that?

What did he…

What did they…

Did they even have time to…

What could they…

What was Jared…

What is Jared _doing_?

Richard finds that he’s running after Jared, stopping only when, Wyle.E.Coyote style, his body brings it to his attention that he doesn’t, y’know, run.

Anyway, he’s lost sight of Jared – where the fuck has he gone? Is he coming back, should Richard…wait, or…not..or…..?

Richard roams the parking lot aimlessly until someone presses a quarter into his hand with a murmured ‘stay strong, man’. Richard pockets the quarter mechanically – every little helps, right? – and calls himself a Lyft back to the office.

Where he’s greeted by round-eyed stares and ‘What the fuck happened to _you_?’

And then Richard goes to the toilet and looks at himself in the mirror.

He has asphalt tracks all down his white dress shirt, his ear has swollen where he banged it against that side-mirror, and he’s grazed his chin.

Which. He probably thinks, vaguely, that it’s gonna start hurting anytime soon, but…

Where the fuck is Jared?

‘Where’s Jared?’, he asks, only to be met with stares.

‘He’s not in this afternoon, remember?’

‘What? He – why?’

Gilfoyle shrugs. ‘Tea-cosy embroidery?’

‘Knitting needle expo?’ adds Dinesh.

‘Potpourri Appreciation Anonymous?’

Richard wanders away as they continue.

The rest of the day’s…kind of a blur. Richard stares at his screen. Starts every time he hears footsteps past his door, even though he knows it’s not Jared because

  1. He knows Jared’s gait, that soft, diffident, careful tread, pre-emptively apologising for the imposition, for his existence, for taking up so much of your valuable time, so sorry, Richard, I wouldn’t if it weren’t important, but I have to….
  2. Jared’s not in for the rest of the day.
  3. Because of that. 
    1. That floozy.
    2. That redhead.
    3. In the car. 
      1. But she _left._
      2. She walked into the restaurant.
  4. And Jared walked off.
  5. In the opposite direction.
  6. So did he…
  7. Did she….
  8. What was…
  9. Did Jared go _back_?
  10. What were they even doing there?
  11. I mean, Jared’s allowed to...
  12. Obviously, whatever Jared does in his free time is…
  13. But this isn’t free time, it was a workday 
    1. Which, yes, he’d asked for time off, so technically it was his own time, but…
  14. What were they doing in that car?
  15. And what are they doing now?
  16. What are they…
  17. Why are they….
  18. Why hasn’t Jared…
  19. Is he…
  20. Is she…
  21. Are they….
  22. Where the fuck is Jared?
  23. What the fuck is he _doing_?



Richard gets up abruptly. ‘I’m going…yeah’, he announces, in the general direction of the office, and calls himself a Lyft.

Outside Jared’s apartment, he finds himself glaring at the door. Willing it to fly open and reveal…

What?

Jared and the redhead _in flagrante_?

Jared and the redhead working on a spreadsheet?

Which, Jesus, is that worse?

Because that would be…

His COO just….fucking…..giving it away, right?

Just, like, to anyone.

But, like, in the backs of Priuses like a…

Like a….

Which…

He is…

What is Richard even _doing_ here?

What is he expecting to find?

What is his plan?

Oh God, what is Richard’s _plan_?

And Richard spins on his heel, about to book it for the stairs when….

‘Richard?’

Right.

Perfect.

Of course.

Of course Richard’s managed to get away with gawking at Jared in the backseats of Priuses like Garbage James Bond and escape detection, but let him pause for like, one hot second outside Jared’s door and Jared. Is. All. Over it.

Richard actually contemplates making a run for it anyway, before he sighs and turns around.

‘Richard! Oh, Richard, what happened?’

Richard frowns, and then his brow clears as he remembers. ‘Oh, it’s nothing, I….’

 _Hit my chin on the ground and my ear against a car when I was spying on you_.

‘A-accident’, he mumbles.

‘Oh _no_. Oh, come in, come in.’

Richard trails after Jared. Follows him into his nice bathroom. Perches on the toilet seat as Jared rummages for iodine and band-aids. Lets his eyes shut as cool, long fingers fuss over him, turning his face this way and that, winces as the iodine stings, nods over Jared’s apologetic murmur.

‘There’, says Jared at length. ‘How do you feel?’

Richard twitches a shoulder, staring into Jared’s eyes. His queasiness, his discontent, his _whatwhywherewhy_ , has retreated to the back of his head. He feels…safe.

Next time, he thinks, he’ll take Jared with him to all those investor meetings. Jared’s his COO, he should…be there. He should’ve been there anyway, that would’ve..it would…solve…things. Everything.

‘Should’ve. Been there.’, he says.

Jared frowns. ‘Been…where, Richard?’

‘The meeting’, says Richard.

‘The investors? How did it go?’

Richard thinks. He can barely remember now. Okay? It had gone…okay? He thinks? There’ll be a term sheet. Jared can look at it. Maybe Jared could’ve already had a… if he’d…

But he hadn’t.

Because of.

Prius.

Redhead.

Prius Redhead.

‘Who was Prius Redhead?’, asks Richard, and immediately wants to die.

Jared’s frown deepens. ‘I don’t…’

‘I saw you’, says Richard, ‘at – at Chia Guevara. The parking lot.’

Jared’s brow clears. ‘Oh! Yes! Yes, that – you mean Eleanor. She’s my friend Ruth’s granddaughter.’

Oh. That. Okay. But ‘Parking lot?’

Jared shrugs. ‘Oh, you know. Eleanor’s a busy woman. She was running out on her lunch break to get my Fairisle knitting pattern. She wanted to surprise her Nana, isn’t that wonderful?’

Oh.

That.

So.

There was.

But ‘Why. Couldn’t you just….like….email her the…..?’

‘I was showing her, Richard.’

Oh.

‘But I didn’t see her…’

‘See her what, Richard?’

Richard finds himself toes curling. It’s Jared’s typically gentle tone, but there’s a…quality there, like Jared’s voice is leaning forward. Like he’s tensing for a spring.

Ridiculous, Richard tells himself. But his fists can’t quite bring themselves to unclench on his thighs.

‘See her’, Richard swallows, Jared’s gaze is very…..intent, ‘kn-knit.’

And then Jared actually is leaning in, Richard can feel the heat come off him, and he gulps, ‘And, and she, she, no n-needles, I didn’t, you didn’t, didn’t see, were you…’

‘Richard, what _is_ this?’

Richard’s eyes fly to Jared’s, which are (fuck, fuck) brimming over, he looks…Jesus no, he looks, he looks hurt, why, no, Jared, it’s not, please…

‘Are you…Richard, are you _following_ me?’

‘No!’, says Richard, and thank fuck that’s…..more or less true, like he did try, but that was after, and he did track Jared down to his condo, but that’s not technically…anyway. Moving on. ‘My…my lunch, it was…they moved it, I was there anyway, we weren’t….’

Jared frowns and his lips tighten fractionally. It’s the smallest, the tiniest flicker of expression, but Richard catches it before it vanishes like breath off a windshield.

Annoyance.

Just a little.

It’s…alien….on Jared’s open, earnest face. Richard’s seen devotion, and joy, and unstinting loyalty, and gratitude, and anguish, and rage of a ferocity and focus that sends shivers down his spine.

But annoyance?

The swift irritation of a general contemplating a best-laid plan going astray?

(Jared would say it’s ‘gang agley’ ‘in the original Scots dialect, Richard’, but you know what? No, Jared.)

‘Richard?’ and there, there, Jared’s eyes are shining, there’s, like, one tear gathering at the corner of his eye, ‘Captain, don’t you – don’t you _trust_ me?’

And Richard doesn’t know why that’s what tips the balance for him, but he finds himself leaning forward, knees bumping Jared’s, getting up in his space enough that his face is beginning to blur.

‘Jared’, says Richard, ‘who was that woman?’

There’s a silence, long enough for Richard’s gaze to drop down to Jared’s checked button-down, to his trousers with their impeccable crease, back up to those blue blue eyes.

And then:

‘All right, Richard, what do you want to know?’

And Richard’s head jerks up. The voice is…cool. Amused. Kind in a distant, big-brotherly way.

As are the eyes looking into Richard’s.

‘J - Jared?’

And Richard is met with a long slow smile. ‘Sometimes.’


	2. Chapter 2

“All of us take pride and pleasure in the fact that we are unique, but I'm afraid that when all is said and done the police are right: it all comes down to fingerprints.” 

\- David Sedaris, _Holidays on Ice_

 

Richard blinks. ‘Some – what do you – who _are_ you?’

The smile broadens. ‘I told you. Sometimes I’m Donald. Or Jared.’

‘What does that even - ’

The guy tilts Jared’s head. Worries Jared’s bottom lip with Jared’s teeth. Gives Richard a very long, very thoughtful look with Jared’s eyes. Sighs and says ‘Okay, look. You’re familiar with the Ciccione Family?’

Richard frowns. ‘It – yeah? Philadelphia mob? They – what does that have to - ’

‘Well’, says the guy, ‘long ago – more than ten years back – I – did things – for them.’

‘Thi – what things?’

The guy shrugs one of Jared’s shoulders, a languid, oddly elegant movement. ‘Things. Errands. That sort of thing. Don’t worry about it.’

‘Jared’, Richard stops. ‘It – what’s your name?’

The guy shakes his head. ‘Can’t tell you that.’

‘I can’t call you Jared.’

The guy nods, but doesn’t offer a solution. Richard tries again: ‘What. Things. Did you – J – did – did you kill people?’

The guy smiles. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

And he – he has to know that that’s. Like. The opposite of reassuring. Right?

‘What – then why - ’

‘I was offered a deal’, says the guy. ‘Immunity if I testified.’ He shrugs. ‘I’m waiting to testify. Have been for the past ten years.’

‘Ten years – how - ’

‘The wheels of justice’, says the guy, with a quick, mirthless smile, ‘grind exceeding fine, but exceeding slow.’

Richard shakes his head. He can’t – ‘It – do you – are you in _hiding_?’

The guy nods. ‘Witness protection. The woman you saw – she’s my handler.’

Richard clutches his head. He feels like he should’ve been given warning before the guy just, like, rudely nudged his world off its axis. ‘No, look, this is – just – fucking – like, how do I - ’

The guy is watching Richard. It’s a kind look, Richard realises. Jared’s eyes, Jared’s face, but not Jared’s kindness. Not Jared’s earnest, overbearing mother-hen deal. This is….

It’s really fucking upsetting.

‘Richard’, says the guy, ‘if you think about this for a second, you’ll realise that there were gaps in my story.’

‘What – I don’t - ’

‘No birth certificate’, says the guy. ‘No paperwork about my identity. All that moving around. Those foster homes. Did you never even – Richard, did you never once wonder how I could have had _time_ for all those horrific childhood stories?’

Richard’s staring at the guy in horror.

‘I mean, I laid it on pretty thick, Richard. Did you never once wonder - ?’

Richard’s still staring. The guy stares back and laughs. Jared’s throat, but not Jared’s high, gasping, grateful laugh. This is deeper, throatier – _Jared’s throat_ – richer, happier.

And fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

‘It was a lie?’, Richard says, and his eyes widen at the sound of his own voice: cracked, high, vibrating with hurt.

The guy’s eyes soften. ‘I – Richard, I had to.’

‘All of it?’

‘Not’ the guy hesitates, ‘not - all. I embroidered. But - ’

‘Uncle Jerry’s Game?’

‘No’, says the guy. It’s flat. Hard. ‘That one was true.’

Richard’s eyes fly to his. His hands hover – he doesn’t – is this, he’s never the best at this kind of, is he meant to, and this guy’s a fucking stranger, he –

In a flash, the guy clears his throat. ‘Anyway. It worked out for me that you never asked questions.’

‘I asked you questions today’, says Richard, because what the fuck. Richard knows there are rocks at the bottom of the ocean that see more than he does, but he saw Jared, didn’t he, he saw him, he went after him, he brought him on board, he chased him when he left, he followed him now, he saw him, he can’t, this is, for him to, to, he trusted Jared, of course he knew Jared’s childhood was, was, but that was what made Jared Jared, he, this, and now, it –

‘You did’, says the guy, and his eyes sharpen instantly. ‘You cracked the case, Richard. That’s – _very_ interesting.’

Richard fidgets under the guy’s gaze. He feels profoundly uncomfortable.

‘You followed me’, continues the guy. ‘All the way to Jared’s condo. Now, why did you do that?’

Richard shuffles. ‘It looked – it looked weird, I was - ’

‘Jared was talking to a woman, Richard’, says the guy. ‘On his lunch break. That’s not such a big deal, is it?’

‘No, it - ’

‘He’s allowed’, says the guy, ‘to talk to other people, isn’t he?’

‘Yes! I just - ’

‘So why does it _bother_ you, Richard?’ The guy’s eyes – _Jared’s_ eyes – are bright with a knife-sharp gleam Richard’s never seen in Jared’s wide open gaze.

‘It’, says Richard, and clears his throat, ‘look, that’s not the – you - ’

‘Well?’

Richard writhes in his chair. Lifts his eyes to the guy’s. Lets them fall immediately.

‘ _Well_ ’, says the guy. He leans back in his chair and laughs softly. ‘You know, I’ve had my private doubts about you for a while, Richard Hendricks.’

‘Doubts? I – what - ’

‘Of course Jared doesn’t know’, says the guy, ignoring Richard, ‘Jared’s con _vinced_ it’s just him.’

Richard blinks. Wants to ask why the guy talks about Jared like he’s, like, a friend as opposed to…whatever the fuck he actually is.

Says instead: ‘Just – just him _what_?’

And the guy grins at Richard. Happy, confident, a little malicious, which – Richard never thought Jared’s earnest worrywart features were, like, physically capable of a single one of the expressions the guy makes, how the _fuck_.

‘Don’t worry’, he says, ‘I can keep a secret.’ He cocks his head. ‘ _If_ you can keep mine.’

And he gives Richard a very long, very direct, very patient, very fucking _significant_ look.

Richard stares back at him for a long moment before it sinks in, and then he’s springing out of his chair.

‘No. Jesus, what – you, are you saying we just…I just…like nothing happened?’

‘I think it’s for the best, yes.’

Richard flails for a bit. ‘It – what even – fucking….I can’t just…’

‘Why not?’

Richard gawps at the guy. ‘What – what do you – _how_ \- ’

The guy shrugs. ‘It’s easy. You’ll go back to work, and so will Jared. He’s good at his job, isn’t he? You’re happy with him?’

Is Richard…happy…with Jared?

Is he…

Happy?

Richard is, at any given point of time, any combination of the following where Jared is concerned:

  1. Worried.
  2. Puzzled.
  3. Fearful.
  4. Admiring.
  5. Vaguely jealous of his ability to just fucking put his head down and get shit done.
  6. Grateful.
  7. Obsessed with his long pale hands.
  8. Curious about his Adam’s Apple.
  9. Confused.
  10. And Jesus, now, _now_ , confused doesn’t even _begin_ to…
  11. Other things that Richard is 100% not going to think about. 
    1. Especially not right now.



But. Okay. Yes. Let’s go with ‘happy’.

‘I’, says Richard, ‘with – Jared’s – work? Yes. I mean. Yes, obviously, I – yes.’

‘Well then’, says the guy, making an expansive gesture, ‘what’s the problem?’

‘The problem?’, says Richard, staring at eyes looking placidly at him like Richard’s being a giant baby about passing the fucking salt rather than, y’know, a huge fucking existential crisis, ‘The problem is that – that – fucking…who _are_ you, I don’t, I, and now you’re saying, what, that I, I forget this, or’

‘I’m not asking you to forget’, says the guy, ‘I actually…it’s kind of….nice to be able to talk to someone else about this.’ He looks pensive. ‘It…it gets kind of....kind of lonely.’

Richard blinks, and reflects that whoever Jared happens to be at any point of time, he infallibly, at some point, will throw Richard into a precise and bubbling cocktail of wariness, confusion and tenderness. ‘I - ’

‘Please, Richard’, and to Richard’s unutterable horror the eyes looking up into his have a _very_ fucking familiar look. ‘I, I know I should have told you before, and it, oh, it’s like a sword through my vitals that I could have deceived you, led you astray, basked in the radiance of your trust without once, once telling you, Captain, of the hateful, prevaricating serpent you nursed in your bosom, I - ’

‘Don’t, says Richard, ‘I – please, you can’t - ’

‘Richard’, says Jared – Jared! – on a breath. He slides off his chair and crawls towards Richard.

Richard tries to back away, but stumbles back into his seat. By the time he’s caught his breath he’s staring in horror at Jared. Jared whose soft blue eyes are swimming as he gazes at Richard. Jared whose giant hands are burning a hole through Richard’s jeans as they rest at an ambiguous-but-plausibly-deniable height on Richard’s thighs.

‘I couldn’t tell you, Richard’, whispers Jared. ‘I had to – I had to _protect_ you.’

And his thumbs stroke, in a wide circle, along the inside of Richard’s legs.

And Richard’s throat dries. When he speaks, it’s with a croak. ‘Please, you - ’

‘What can I do, Richard?’ continues Jared, leaning in, his eyes wide and searching on Richard’s face. ‘How can I make it up to you?’

Richard shakes his head weakly, he has to know, the guy, Jared, he, they, they have to, he can’t, ‘Please - ’

‘I want to make this right’, continues Jared, his breath fanning Richard’s face, ‘I want you to….I want to atone, Richard, I want to make… _restitution_.’

‘You don’t, please, I - ’

‘What do you need, Richard?’ breathes Jared. ‘I want you to take it, I…I want to _give_ it to you.’

And how Richard does it, he really doesn’t know, but he manages to wriggle out from underneath those giant thumbs and that insinuating murmur wreaking fucking _havoc_ with his not-particularly-stable system, and to stand at a safe – for now – distance. He stares down at Jared/the guy, chest heaving.

‘Stop’, he says, ‘stop. Doing this. Stop. Stop using – him – for….’

‘You’re mad’, says the guy. ‘I get it. Do you want to hit him?’

Richard jolts. ‘What? No! What?’

‘He wouldn’t mind’, says the guy. ‘He’d let you do _anything_ to him.’

 Richard shudders. Has to will away the thickly-crowding _anything, anything, what does that mean, anything, like_ anything _anything, or what is even, where, how, I_

Croaks ‘I don’t. Want. Him to. To _let_ me.’

‘Don’t worry about that’, says the guy, who seems to take a truly perverse pleasure in saying those words in the least comforting way possible. ‘He wants it, trust me. The things that boy’s into, Richard…’

And just….the affectionate, reminiscent way his voice curls around those words, the dark promise in them, Richard just…

‘I – ‘ Richard swallows again. The guy looks at Richard and then, in a flash, he’s up and towering over Richard, inches away.

‘I can tell you what Jared likes, Richard’, he murmurs. ‘I can….’ And one hand reaches out, backs of fingertips brushing down Richard’s flank, featherlight but burning through his clothes, ‘I can _show_ you.’

Richard’s lashes beat against his cheek. He can’t, it’s, everything’s so close and so hot, the promise and the danger and the terrifying _yes want please_ of it beating a hectic tattoo against his skin, he’s crawling, he’s flying, he can’t, he must….

‘I…’ he says, and then stumbles backwards.

‘Richard, be careful!’

It’s a well-advised warning, because Richard feels his feet catching at the edge of Jared’s rug, watches the guy’s face fall up and away from him in a graceful parabola, watches himself thinking ‘…Yeah, that’s about right.’

‘Richard?’

Richard blinks blearily as the face of the worst doctor in Silicon Valley comes into focus.

‘Good news!’, he says cheerily. ‘The new nose is settling in nicely!’

Richard grabs immediately for his nose, and scowls at the doctor.

‘Richard has a magnificent aquiline nose’, says a familiar voice. ‘It is the picture of authority, nay, of majesty. It belongs on the side of Roman coins.’

‘Speaking of coins…’ says the doctor.

‘I’ll attend to it’, says Jared, and shepherds him out. He comes back and hovers near the bed, looking searchingly at Richard.

‘Richard? How do you feel?’

And that. Well. That is not a question Richard can answer. Richard’s scouring Jared’s face for signs of the guy – for that hard, bright, offhandedly kindly smile, for that unsettling dark brown murmur, for anything, _anything_ that is not his sweet, earnest, devoted COO, gazing down at him with a worried crease between his brows.

‘What’, says Richard, and coughs. He realises he doesn’t have a plan for the rest of the sentence. ‘What – er – happened?’

Jared’s eyes widen. ‘Oh dear, they said that some temporary amnesia might be expected! Richard, you hurt yourself – you fell, you said, you came to my condo, and it must have been a worse fall than I realised, because you, you tripped, and then you fainted, Richard, you swooned, I was so worried, oh, Captain, we must take better care of you.’

Amnesia?

Wait.

No.

No, Richard remembers perfectly. Prius Redhead, the guy, the fucking…Philadelphia Mob, the, the, the fairly significant detail that Jared _isn’t_ _actually Jared_.

No, Richard remembers it all.

‘Well, you aren’t hallucinating’, says Jared, ‘which is a wonderful sign, so…’

Hallucinating?

No, fuck that. Richard’s mind’s eye is, is fucking _20/20_.

What would Richard…

How would that….

It’s not like it was even that…

Implausible?

Like, it could…

Jared could…

He does seem….

‘Jared?’

Jared turns immediately to Richard. ‘Yes, Captain?’

And a thousand questions wither and die on Richard’s lips.

I mean, what is he going to ask, anyway?

  1. Hey, Jared, quick question: are you actually an unspecified-but-sketch-as-fuck-sounding-mob-guy-in-witness-protection?
  2. And follow-up: do you….y’know….like me?
  3. Related: and would you let me do anything to you?
  4. Anything?
  5. Like, anything?
  6. Because, I mean….
  7. Anything?



Which. I mean. Come on.

So Richard swallows and says, feebly ‘Thank you. For. For being here.’

And gulps at the blinding smile Jared gives him.

Over the next few days Richard finds himself lurking – fucking _lurking_ – in his own office, watching Jared as he goes about his day. Listening to his voice. Staring into his eyes, those large, soft, blue blue blue eyes, watching his slim hands move over the keyboard, seriously considering microchipping him so he can do…what? Fucking _what_?

One day he asks Jared ‘So, the Ciccione family, Jared.’

Jared blinks. ‘The Philadelphia crime syndicate? What about them, Richard?’

And he sounds nothing but his usual levels of searchlight-intensity interested in whatever Richard happens to be saying.

Which. I mean. If he’s, like, a criminal. Then. Then obviously he’d have learned to. Like. Fake it. Right?

Right. Jared Dunn, criminal mastermind.

Which.

I mean.

It could…

Because…

Because otherwise, what’s the explanation? That Richard took exhaustion, stress, paranoia and a belching fucking cauldron of sublimated God alone knows what and projected it onto this fantasy of some kindly bro matchmaking between him and Jared?

Right?

I mean, come on.

Because…

I mean…

Oh.

Richard sits, staring miserably and unseeingly ahead, for so long that the stallions freak out and get Jared to come see him.

‘Richard? Captain, what’s wrong?’

Richard comes to with a start, and looks up at Jared. ‘Wrong? Nothing – I – nothing.’

Jared doesn’t look convinced, but nods. ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’

_Be who I think you are? Whatever the fuck that is? Do the thing with the soothing back-rubs when I’m vomiting, but this time inside my fucking head? Can you do that?_

_Can you…_

_When the guy said…_

_If the guy’s even…_

_Did I…_

_Are you…._

_Do you…._

Richard shakes his head.

The days go by without incident. Richard takes Jared with him to investor meetings, which makes sense anyway, so that’s all. Y’know. Maybe it wasn’t all.

Even if Richard hallucinated a backstory for Jared that’s somehow even more convoluted than his actual one.

Which.

Kudos, Hendricks.

And likewise for the feeling of Jared’s thumbs rubbing circles on his inner thigh, which.

Which.

Even if…

However hard Richard tries to forget it (which, let’s be honest, is not very hard), it.

It’s fucking _indelible_.

As is Jared’s voice husking ‘I want to give it to you’, which, yes, out of context even from the, the, the, whatever the fuck that was, and Jesus just replaying the audio in his head Richard’s embarrassed that it took so long for him to realise the whole thing was a hallucination because Jared? On his knees? Pawing at Richard and being all…with the…porno dialogue…is….

Kudos, Hendricks.

Just…just fucking….try to get some rest.

And Richard screws his eyes determinedly shut and tries to slow his breathing.

And then his phone vibrates.

Sighing, Richard reaches for it.

The number’s blocked, and the message says simply: JARED’S CONDO. TOMORROW NIGHT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as ever to the lovely Beefmaster and Neurofancier for notes and cheerleading.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 **Olivia** : Are you a comedian?

 **Viola** : No, my profound heart. And yet, by the very fangs of malice I swear, I am not that I play.

** - ** ** William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night **

 

Richard doesn’t do a stitch of work that day. Instead, he:

  1. Obsessively googles the Ciccione crime family, enough that surely he’s on some kind of watchlist by now
  2. Image searches for anyone in their circle who looks like Jared, and argues himself into a headache about what if, anything, it means that he can’t find anyone
  3. dithers in the doorway staring at Jared wondering if he should just, like, ask him point-blank about…. 
    * About….
    * dashes to the bathroom to dry-heave at the thought of even opening that conversation
  4. wonders if the guy is actually one of Jared’s alter egos, like that douchenozzle Ed Chambers
  5. wonders if the guy being one of Jared’s hallucinations is actually one of his own hallucinations, like an intricate nested Markovian delusion
  6. wonders if this is all some bizarre Ingmar Bergman dream he’s having 
    * pinches himself
    * wonders whether he’s added sense illusions to the dream
    * tries to remember that theorem about observational equivalence to reality being equivalent to functional equivalence to reality
    * wonders if _Sophie’s World_ would hold up if he reread it now
    * spends a blessed half hour after downloading it confirming that, in fact, it…mostly doesn’t
  7. wonders if he should finally watch _The Matrix_
    * which he put off watching because it always felt like a thing that would mean more to him than it should because he’d seen the people who swear by the fucking thing and he wasn’t like them of course he wasn’t he totally wasn’t but what if
    * and he spent too much time on Reddit and the A.V.Club anyway
    * like, even _he_ knows it was too much time
    * but maybe now it would be okay?
    * Without, like, a screeching echo chamber of fanboys?
    * Though God knows there doesn’t seem to be a dearth of Matrix fanboys even now
    * And maybe the ones left are…you know….worse
    * Not that he’s like that
    * But, you know, what if, though
  8. Realises he can probably never watch the _Matrix_ which is probably a little sad but maybe also for the best



And then, thank God, it’s evening and he realises, to his unspeakable relief, that he doesn’t need to think, or do, or volunteer anything.

The guy will..

He’ll…handle it.

Richard watches Jared leave out of the corner of his eye. Considers asking if he can go with him.

Considers it and then shoots it the fuck down because.

What was Jared’s word?

Bifurcation?

Yeah. Bifurcation.

That thing.

Richard waits in his office, very quietly, in the dark with his computer turned off and his hands in his lap, for what he judges is enough time for Jared to reach his condo and…do…whatever.

When he knocks on Jared’s door, he’s not surprised that the guy answers. Wearing Jared’s chinos and Jared’s button-down under Jared’s cashmere sweater, but the guy nonetheless. Something about the set of his shoulders or the way he lounges against the door. Something about the way he stands aside just enough to let Richard pass through, but not enough that Richard can avoid brushing past him. Something about his deep chuckle at Richard’s burning blush as his arm touches the guy’s torso and he jolts away, banging his elbow painfully into the doorjamb.

‘Want a drink?’, the guy says. Richard shakes his head. He wants his wits about him.

As much as. As much as possible.

The guy nods. ‘Water? Would you like water?’

Richard shrugs. Water should be…fine.

When the guy brings him a glass, their fingers brush. Richard jolts away, slopping the water over himself. The guy clicks his tongue, but in a kind way.

‘Shall I get the cloth?’, he asks, and yeah. Not _that_ kind.

Richard shakes his head, gulping down far more water than he can really handle. He coughs as he sets the glass down. On the coaster that…okay, that’s a Jared touch.

‘Jared’, says the guy, as Richard stares at the coaster for what feels like a small eternity. ‘Jared’s a coaster man.’

Richard nods, looks across. ‘Why did you – why am I here?’

The guy shrugs. ‘I told you, I get lonely.’

Richard watches the guy. ‘What do you want to talk about?’

There’s a long slow smile. ‘I didn’t say I wanted to _talk_.’

Richard blinks. ‘Then…what do you….why _am_ I here then?’

‘You’re cute when you’re confused’, says the guy with a terrifyingly indulgent grin. ‘With the stutters and the eyelids going crazy.’ Richard can feel his eyelids flutter and the colour rise, to his own indescribable annoyance. He decides he’s not going to speak. If he doesn’t speak, he can’t stutter, that stutter the guy apparently finds so fucking _adorable_. Gotta get your victories where you can.

The guy’s grin widens anyway. ‘Yes. Like that.’

Richard clears his throat. ‘It – look, I - ’

‘Relax’, says the guy, ‘you’re not my type.’ He takes a swallow of whatever’s in his glass and gives Richard a very direct look. ‘I know whose type you are, though.’

‘No, look - ’

‘Shhhhhh’, says the guy, dropping to his knees and crawling up to Richard, hands on the arm-rests of Richard’s seat before Richard can make a break for the door, ‘think of this as a ‘thank you’.’

‘I – what - ’

‘You’ve been so _heroic_ , Richard’, says Jared, lifting his eyes to Richard’s, ‘carrying this burden all by yourself, torn to shreds, _rent_ , by other people’s demons, by the words of truth you cannot speak. Oh, Richard, like, like a princess under a spell of silence in a fairy tale.’ He pauses to think and then adds, ‘or a White House intern with an ironclad Non-Disclosure Agreement.’

‘Jared, look, I don’t - ’

‘I’m so _grateful_ , Richard’, whispers Jared, his fingers unwrapping themselves in a long, sultry movement from around the arm-rest, tips resting delicately against Richard’s thighs. ‘How can I show you how grateful I am?’

Richard swallows. Those long, pale fingers are burning through his jeans, the huge blue eyes wide and insistent. There are four…six…eight points of contact between his thighs and Jared’s hands, and Richard is acutely aware of all of them in eight very fucking _distinct_ ways. His whole world is eight iridescent, flaming points of sensation. Distantly he tries to catalogue the precise nerves Jared might be setting off, but his Bio minor was long, long, long ago, and he’s never had to think about his thighs, or the nerves in his thighs, or what human contact might do to the…saphenous nerve? Obturator nerve? Femoral nerve?

And then Jared’s middle and index fingers creep up, and Richard’s brain chitters, in an awestruck manner: ‘Femoral. Yep. Lateral cutaneous nerve. Inferior gluteal nerve. Genitofemoral. Oh god, oh god, oh god, incoming to sacral plexus in three…two…..one…..’

‘Jared’, says Richard. He thinks it’s out loud. Too loud? Not loud enough? Barely audible? Who knows, he can barely hear over the roaring of blood in his ears. All the blood that isn’t currently screaming towards his femoral artery.

Jared lifts his head and stares at him. ‘Richard? What is it?’

His eyes are shining. Very dark. His lips are a little wet. Richard’s throat, on the other hand, is very dry.

‘Jared’, says Richard. Swallows. Jared’s thumbs are doing a gentle little _scrit-scrit_ against his thigh (saphenous, now cutaneous, now – oh, oh, _oh_ – anterior obturator, fuck, fuck, heading for femoral, Jesus), ‘Jared, Jared, _Jared_ …’

He doesn’t know what he’s saying, what he means to say, his blood’s singing, he feels like he’ll burst into flames if Jared, if he doesn’t, if Jared doesn’t, if….

‘Jared.’

‘Richard’, says Jared. ‘Oh, Richard, oh, let me, let me, let me…..’

And Richard will probably let him – oh, let him do anything, he’s only flesh and blood, and come on, come the fuck on, he’s reasonably certain Jared’s identified nerves in in his inner thigh that are completely unknown to medical science – but then Jared says ‘let me thank you, Captain.’

And that. Right there.

It’s like Richard’s entire central nervous system’s been chucked into a freezing cold shower.

‘….What?’

Jared jolts back at Richard’s tone. ‘I didn’t – oh, Richard, I didn’t mean, please - ’

Richard shakes his head. Tries to squirm back. ‘I – Jared, you don’t – you don’t have to - ’

‘Richard, what do you - ’

‘I mean’, and Richard holds Jared’s wrists in his hands, gently lifting them off him while his body curses him in binary, Sanskrit and, like, Sumerian, ‘you don’t. Have to. Your secret’s safe with, like, even if you.’ He swallows, holds Jared’s gaze, ‘you don’t have to.’

And then Jared’s eyes fill, which, why, that’s, why, what did, that isn’t, ‘Richard, I - ’ his Adam’s apple bobs, his eyes are widening, he looks as though someone ran over every pet he’s ever had, what even, ‘Richard, isn’t this – I thought this was what you wanted, I - ’

And oh, oh that’s unfair.

That is the single. Shittiest.

Because how can he even.

What is Richard even. Like. What is he even supposed to _say_.

Where, in the fog of _Yes and no and probably and fuck I didn’t even know I did or that it was possible for me to want_ anyone _let alone want anyone_ this much _I don’t even this isn’t and now you’re not Jared fuck knows_ who _you are and we have a secret now another one but what kind of secret and with_ whom _do I even have the secret what is this what is all of this and now now_ now _you make with the, the fingers and the thumbs and and and the eyes and the crying and I can’t how am I even,_ is Richard supposed to find an answer?

‘That isn’t’ begins Richard, ‘that’s not….’ He takes his hands away from Jared’s to scrub his face. ‘I – look, Jared, you really don’t – I meant it when I said that I wouldn’t.’

‘Oh, Richard’, breathes Jared, ‘of course you wouldn’t, oh, Captain, for you to think that I would, would impugn your probity, how could you, how could _I_ , Richard, Richard, I know what it was, it was my fault, for me to, to malign you, by implying that, that I could buy your silence, I can see, oh, Richard, can you ever _forgive_ me?’

Jared’s clasped his hands together and is staring up into Richard’s face. His eyes are shining again, but in that pitilessly earnest way that makes Richard think of a stained-glass window he once saw in an Art History elective. Infant Samuel at prayer? Something like that.

That, or Charles Manson. Always an option with Jared.

But, you know what? At least those pianist’s fingers aren’t tracing their way up Richard’s thighs, so? Win.

‘No’ begins Richard, ‘nothing to – no. forgive. I. Just. Our secret.’

‘ _Yes_ ’, breathes Jared, and every single cell in Richard’s body jolts awake at that high, ecstatic sound. ‘Yes, Richard, it is.’

And his hands unclasp themselves as he crawls, once more, over to Richard.

‘Richard?’, he says again, eyes gleaming, ‘We have a secret.’

Oh.

Oh, _fuck_.

Richard takes in a shaking breath, gasping as Jared’s hands descend on his thighs, sliding upwards with definite purpose.

‘Please’, he says, and he’s hoping Jared knows the end to that sentence, because Richard sure as fuck does not.

‘Our secret’ says Jared, his hands tightening on Richard’s thighs (oh God) as he reaches up for a kiss.

 _Soft_ , thinks Richard as Jared’s mouth slants over his own, and _soft_ , he thinks again, as Jared’s lips rub against his own, gentle but insistent, and _wet_ , as Jared’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip, and _oh_ , as Richard’s mouth opens on a gasp and Jared slides inside, and then trigeminal nerve, lingual nerve, chorda tympani, _there_ , _more_ , _now_ …

Jared tastes of….

Bourbon?

Because of course he does.

Not Jared. Not Jared’s bourbon. Because Jared doesn’t, I mean, Richard’s seen him with, it’s not _Jared’s_.

But _him_. The guy. _His_ bourbon.

Richard jolts back, rests a fluttering hand on Jared’s chest as he leans in, shakes his head.

‘I….’

‘Richard?’, says Jared, ‘Richard, what’s wrong?’

And there’s a very long, very loud burst of very bitter laughter that Richard realises dimly is coming from him.

‘Richard?’, says Jared. He reaches out a timid hand. ‘Richard, do you – don’t you want me?’

And Richard stares at that long white hand, and thinks again of multiverse theory, of universes shaping behind his eyes. Behind Richard’s left eye, he thinks dizzily, there’s one way this could go, and behind his right, there’s another, and, and, and….


	4. Left eye

“Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.” 

**-Oscar Wilde**

 

‘Richard?’, says Jared. He reaches out a timid hand. ‘Richard, do you – don’t you want me?’

Richard’s hand moves up, very slowly. His fingers move around Jared’s wrist. He feels Jared’s pulse flutter under his thumb, and his own lips move up into a grin. He yanks hard at Jared’s wrist, and takes in a breath as Jared falls forward onto him.

‘Richard?’

Richard moves one hand up to Jared’s chin. Feels his fingers digging into the soft skin beneath his jaw.

‘Wash out that bourbon’, he says.

Jared goes very still against Richard, before he nods. He gets up and walks out of the room to Jared’s bathroom. Richard waits in his chair. Hears the sounds of brushing and swishing – once, twice – and then Jared walks back in.

Richard waits until Jared drops to his knees in front of Richard, hands folded in his lap.

Richard squares his shoulders. Leans forward. Takes Jared’s chin in his hands again.

‘Tell me’, he says, and winces at how high, how hopeful, how fragile he sounds, ‘tell me you want me.’

Jared’s eyes widen. ‘Richard, how can you - ’

‘ _Tell me_.’

Jared tilts his head, the merest fraction. Keeping his eyes on Richard, he says, distinctly ‘I want you, Richard.’

Richard swallows. Says ‘kiss me’.

Jared leans forward, hands unfolding enough to hold Richard’s arm-rests for support. Slowly, slowly, until his lips are almost resting against Richard’s. Murmurs against Richard’s mouth ‘How do you want me to do it, Richard?’

Richard shudders. Passes his tongue over his lips. Shudders again as the tip of his tongue catches Jared’s bottom lips. Says ‘Like – like you. Like you want to.’

Jared leans back. Gives Richard a long look and then nods, a quick small movement. Moves back in, capturing Richard’s mouth with purpose. His lips move between Richard’s, nudging them apart so he can snake his tongue in. One hand rises, fingers moving through Richard’s hair so he can hold Richard’s head the way he wants.

Richard whimpers against Jared’s mouth, and Jared moves in closer. The hand in Richard’s hair pulls him back, the tongue in Richard’s mouth runs over Richard’s teeth, the inside of his cheek.

When Richard pushes feebly against Jared’s chest, all he wants is to draw breath. But Jared releases him with jarring promptness, hands once again in his lap. His lips are swollen, but his eyes are trained obediently on Richard’s, waiting politely for him to come to himself.

‘Richard?’, he says, ‘what should I do now?’

And it’s just…what is Richard even supposed to. Do. With that.

I mean, he has ideas.

Lots of.

Too many.

It.

He swallows. ‘Take – take off your. Sweater.’

Jared nods. Pulls off his sweater. Folds it neatly and places it next to him.

‘Shirt’, says Richard. ‘Also. Off. Off also. Take it off.’

And the sight of those neat long fingers quietly, efficiently slipping buttons out of holes, that expanse of pale skin, that little indent between Jared’s pectorals that just…oh, Richard wants to _taste_ it. Just stick his nose in there does it tickle is Jared ticklish would it would he can Richard is this…

Jared’s hands are back in his lap. He’s looking up at Richard. Waiting.

‘Pants’, says Richard. Jared nods, rising to take off his pants. His boxers, weirdly, kinda match his checked dress shirt, because of course they do, and why that one particular detail makes Richard want to sob with joy and relief and heartbreak all at once Richard doesn’t know.

His hands reach out, fingers plucking at Jared’s waistband. Jared’s arms stay down.

Richard looks up at Jared. ‘Off’, he says.

The cotton of the boxers chafe Richard’s fingers as Jared tugs them off. Richard’s throat dries as his eyes skitter over those sharp, sharp hip-bones, long pale thighs, slender, ridiculously elegant cock.

Jared steps out of his boxers. Stoops to fold them. Places them gently on top of his pile of clothes.

Straightens, arms by his sides, waiting for Richard.

Who takes in a long, shaking breath.

‘Richard?’, prompts Jared – is it Jared?

‘Tell me you’, says Richard, ‘tell me – fuck – tell me you’ve, you’ve, tell me you’ve waited for me.’

‘I’ve waited for you’, says Jared.

It’s what he wants, isn’t it? Jared, naked and waiting for him. Jared, taking him by the hand gently, leading him to his bedroom. Jared, preparing himself with long slick fingers? Jared saying he’s dreamed of Richard, Jared saying nobody else could ever compare, Jared working himself up and down on Richard’s cock, moaning like a whore?

 _It’s Jared_ , he tells himself, arm thrown over his eyes the better to feel that snug velvet heat, _it’s Jared. It’s Jared, it’s Jared, it’s Jared._


	5. Right eye

“Who are you?"  
"No one of consequence."  
"I must know."  
"Get used to disappointment.”   
**―** **William Goldman, The Princess Bride**

 

‘Richard?’, says Jared. He reaches out a timid hand. ‘Richard, do you – don’t you want me?’

Richard flings himself away.

Scrambles to his feet. ‘I’, he begins, ‘I want - ’ and he stares at the man on the floor, ‘I want _him_.’

The guy cocks his head. ‘I’m _giving_ you him, Richard.’

‘Don’t’, says Richard. ‘Don’t. Talk. About him. Like he’s. Don’t.’

‘Richard’, sighs the guy, very reasonable, very disappointed, ‘don’t be like that. Jared’s – Jared’s mad for you, you know that.’

‘Stop it.’

‘He is’, says the guy. ‘And you can _have_ him. Without lifting a finger, Richard. Without risking anything.’

 _Except my, my fucking_ mind, thinks Richard, _but what’s a mind anyway, yeah?_

‘It’s clean’, says the guy, ‘it’s contained. Right here, right now, it’s just between the two of us.’ He thinks. ‘And Jared.’ He smiles. ‘What’s Jared’s word? Bifurcation?’

Richard shudders. Sprints for the door.

The next morning he watches Jared. Attentive, earnest, huge blue eyes beaming with their usual unsettling searchlight intensity but with absolutely zero indication of, of, of, you know, groping Richard, or, or, or, making with the, making out, or, or, or _anything_.

 _Well, this_ is _what you were promised_ , Richard thinks, _bifurcation. Bifurfuckingcation_.

 _You could have this_ , he thinks, _Jared like – like this – in the office, and at night, like he…like he was_.

Bifurcation.

And then he thinks, _fuck that_.

Jared’s getting up to use the bathroom. Richard watches narrowly, does an actual, literal headcount so he’s sure none of the other guys is in there, and then scuttles off after him.

He locks the door after him – best be safe, right?

‘Jared?’

‘Richard?’ Jared turns from the sink. ‘Is everything all right?’

Richard looks at Jared and swallows. Jared is staring at him, eyes very large and very alert and very concerned and very very very blue.

 _You don’t have to do this_ , he tells himself, _you could just….just walk out of here, and, and go back to your desk, and, and fucking…mob guys who look like Jared and Philadelphia crime families and bourbon and Jared’s hands on your thighs would just….not…_

‘Go out with me’, he says.

Jared blinks. ‘Go out where, Richard?’

‘I mean’, Richard hadn’t expected, like, location to be the deciding factor, ‘er – where do you….normally….’

‘Is it Raviga?’, says Jared, ‘Azure? The smart fridges? Whom are we meeting?’

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, goddammit.

‘I didn’t mean’, Richard strikes his forehead, ‘I – Jared, I – I like you.’

Jared blushes. ‘Oh, Richard, I - ’

And Richard knows, he knows that his sweet, modest, infuriatingly dense COO is going to say something unnecessarily intense but also somehow just plausibly platonic enough to confuse and then shrivel Richard’s boner/spirit/courage/whatever. So he hurries to get the words out before Jared can say that Richard is the World War One bombing to Jared’s Flanders Fields poppies or whatever fucked-up analogy and Richard has to listen to The Guy’s kindly clucking in his head.

‘I _like_ you’ says Richard, ‘all right? I – I, I, I, I want you to, to myself, I want you to, for, with’ and he swallows, ‘I like you. And’ he shuts his eyes, because this is the, you know, this is important but also, ‘it’s, it’s, it’s fine if you, y’know, don’t feel the same way or whatever, I’ll be, it’ll be fine, I won’t be, be an asshole about it, but I just, just, I wanted you to.’ He lets out a breath. ‘To know.’

There’s a silence. Long enough for Richard to crack one eye open to see Jared groping for the sink with one hand, while the other creeps up to his chest. ‘Richard, I - ’

And then Richard thinks, _It’s all in your head, of_ course _it was all in your head, why would you think Jared would, would, well now you know, you found out, it’s resolved, congratulations Hendricks, go throw yourself into traffic, save yourself the bother._

‘It’s fine’, he mumbles, ‘I’m just gonna’, and he turns and books it for the door.

Or would if Jared weren’t holding desperately onto his waistband.

‘It. Jared, I. You need to. Let go of.’

‘Richard’, says Jared, so urgently that Richard stills. ‘Richard, I love you.’

Richard turns to look at Jared over his shoulder. Fearfully. Hopefully.

Jared is looking back. That unwavering, weighty stare.

Richard lets out a breath. Turns around so he’s facing Jared.

‘Richard?’ Jared’s fingers are twitching by his side. ‘May – may I – kiss you?’

Richard nods, violently. Tries to keep his eyes open as Jared’s long pale face bends closer, closer, agonisingly slowly. Finds his eyes shutting anyway as Jared’s lips gently, hesitantly, touch his.

He exhales against Jared’s mouth. Jared shuffles in a little closer. ‘Richard, may I - ’

‘ _Yes_ ’, says Richard, and Jared lets his hands rest, lightly, on Richard’s shoulders. Presses his lips more firmly against Richard’s. Richard can feel him waiting, is he waiting, for what is he waiting, is he, does he, does he want, what is,

‘Jared?’, says Richard, pulling back, ‘is – do you want - ’

Jared’s eyes are wide. Startled. ‘I – Richard, is - ’

Richard growls and pushes his lips at Jared’s, clutching at Jared’s thin shoulders to scramble onto the sink, pulling him in between his legs. Jared moans as he stumbles in, and the next few minutes are a glorious, blessedly silent interlude of touch and breath and the nimble, delicate movement of Jared’s tongue and Jared’s hipbones pressing through Richard’s jeans as Richard squeezes.

‘Richard’, breathes Jared as Richard’s thighs tighten around him. ‘Richard’, he says as Richard’s hands twitch on his ass. ‘Oh, _Richard_ ’, as Richard bites at his throat. ‘Richard, Richard, _Rich_ \- ’ and Jared cuts himself off.

‘What?’, says Richard, detaching himself from Jared’s collarbone. ‘What, Jared?’

There’s a blush, high on Jared’s cheek. ‘I – that was loud, Richard, I thought you may not - ’

May not - ? Oh, Richard definitely does. He wants Jared to gasp, to moan, to wail. To bring down the roof with his wailing. Especially if what he’s wailing is Richard’s name. Richard’s name where the stallions and Dinesh and Gilfoyle can hear. Jared Dunn, saying Richard’s name. Saying it like he wants him, like he’s dying for him, like he’s been waiting for him, like he’s mad for him just like the guy said.

No.

No.

No more of that.

‘You can’, says Richard, yanking Jared in, ‘I – you can – louder. I – I want them to hear.’

Them. Out there. Where there are witnesses.

Jared’s eyes dilate and Richard can feel his cock twitch against his own groin. And oh, right, he thinks, Jared probably thinks he’s an exhibitionist now, which – no? Although if Jared’s into it, which he seems to be, judging by the volume and the pitch of his little gasps and whimpers, then maybe?

‘Mark me’, says Richard to Jared. ‘Where – where they can – where all of them can - ’

 _And oh_ , he thinks as Jared licks and sucks and nips and worries a bruise onto his throat, _oh please, please, please._ _Be this for me. Whoever you are – whoever_ else _you are – be this for me_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to the infinitely lovely and talented beefmaster, joycecarolnotes and neurofancier for looking over this stuff, cheerleading and therapy.
> 
> My tumblr handle is itsevidentvery, if you'd like to come yell with me there.


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